


Fett February 2021

by steelphoenix



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Culture, Fett February, Found Family, Gen, Vode An, legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelphoenix/pseuds/steelphoenix
Summary: I will be updating these as it goes along, with no consistent schedule except that they will come out on the specified week. Unless otherwise stated, they're canon compliant up to Mandalorian S2. Also these are not drabbles because drabbles are 100 words exactly,this is a hill I will die on.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. Week One: Found Family

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating these as it goes along, with no consistent schedule except that they will come out on the specified week. Unless otherwise stated, they're canon compliant up to Mandalorian S2. Also these are not drabbles because drabbles are 100 words exactly, _this is a hill I will die on._

It was nearly a week after the mess on Tython that Boba realised exactly what the feeling lurking at the centre of his chest was. He prided himself on being an observant man, but given the circumstances, he could probably give himself a pass.

It had flared up as he came back into the cockpit, and seen Din staring out at the swirls of hyperspace. His posture was slumped, tired, almost _defeated_. Something protective, something _possessive_ , raised its head and prodded at Boba, worried and worrying, and he knew he had to distract Din. The melancholy and guilt that the man had been carrying since the abduction of his child was a dark cloak around him.

"Hey, _vod'ika_ ," slipped out before he could censor it, and Din's head whipped around to face him. There was silence, sharp with surprise from both of them and Boba cursed himself for getting comfortable enough to not censor his words.

"You can't be older than me," Din blurted out, breaking the silence before it got too awkward.

Boba squinted at him for a second, because while he had no idea what he expected the response to be, that definitely wasn't it. Around the confusion, he managed to put together a sentence: "I was born - decanted - in '945."

"Damn," Din mumbled, and then louder, "I don't remember the year, but it was around '950, '951."

Boba was mildly surprised at that - Din has a certain gravity to him - but then again he was pretty crap at judging ages even when people weren't wearing helmets.

"So you _are vod'ika_ ," he managed, trying for joking and mostly succeeding. He leaned forward and gave Din a gentle shove on his pauldron. Din grumbled, and shoved him back as Boba passed him, going for the pilot's seat - but Boba had expected it and had dropped his weight so he lurched a little but didn't topple. It got him another grumble, but nothing else. The acceptance made Boba grin behind his faceplate, and the worry faded a little at Din's distraction.

There was a shuffle of boots behind them, and then Fennec asked, "Does that make you both my _vod'ika_?"

Boba looked over at Din, and found him looking back. Din's helmet tilted just a little, and then he said, " _Vod'ika_ is the singular. _Vod'ike_ is plural."

"And that's 'brothers', yes?" Fennec continued, coming forward to lean on the back of the pilot's seat. Her tone was interested, and Boba thanked the gods that she was helping - whether she meant to or not.

"Sibling," replied Din, "No gender in _Mando'a_. Can be close friend, comrade, brother-in-arms, as well."

Fennec grinned, and prodded Boba's shoulder, "You getting soft in your old age then, _vod'ika_?"

"I will kick your _ass_ , Fennec," Boba replied, perfectly deadpan, though the warmth swirled in his belly at her clear extension of trust. She owed him, but that hardly mattered if she was claiming them as _family_ -

"I thought it was a sister's duty to annoy her brothers?" came the cheeky reply, and he barely heard it. She was making that claim, however jokingly, and he was _accepting_ it?

"Annoy Din, then," Boba grumbled, and turned back to the console, head spinning. That possessive, protective feeling spiked in his gut, mixing with the warmth, and abruptly, Boba realised that it was something he'd not felt in years - decades. Since his father's death, since leaving Kamino and Concord Dawn - but it was that same feeling, unmistakeable and inescapable. Some part of him had reached out to Fennec, and then Din, and claimed them as his own.

 _Very Mandalorian_ , he thought to himself, almost despairing. For that to show up, _now_ of all times? But Din was Mandalorian, and it made a certain amount of sense. This was the first real, prolonged contact he'd had with his culture in years - and it was, in a word, _home_. Family. Something he'd wanted so badly since Geonosis.

Part of him had been tracking Din and Fennec still talking about Mando'a, and he tuned back in just in time to hear Fennec say, "Well considering we're going to be sticking around for a while, it's good to learn at least a bit. At least enough to sass Boba."

Well, she wasn't _wrong_ , Boba realised, because he'd been planning on staying with Din at least until they'd retrieved the child. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that it wasn't really because of a debt.

"You're only learning because you want to insult me?" he managed, and it came out sounding fond rather than frustrated.

Surprisingly, it was Din who replied, "It's practically her _job_ ," tone giving away the teasing grin he was no doubt wearing under his helmet. Fennec nodded solemnly, a smile lurking in the corner of her lips, a badly-suppressed snicker clear.

Boba shook his head, and laughed, and the warmth of _family-home-protection_ unfurled in his chest, and he accepted it.


	2. Week Two: Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week Two: Legacy  
> Boba Fett was a legacy, from the moment he was born - decanted - and he had always known it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly rambling to the tune of 'Boba really needs a hug' and 'kids need love not expectations' and 'wow war messes with people's heads'.
> 
>  _Mando'a_ should be obvious in context or fandom-common. If you need something translated, please ask! Highly recommend mandoa.org as a source.

Boba Fett was a legacy, from the moment he was born - decanted - and he had always known it.

Oh, his Dad had loved him - fiercely, and to the exclusion of all others - but he wasn't ever loved for _himself_. It was always with expectation, a path set out for him that he was expected to walk. Jaster Mereel had been _Mand'alor_ until his death. Jango Fett had been _Mand'alor_ , had fallen and failed, and his son would regain that lost honour - restore Jaster's legacy.

He was raised with _Mando'a_ on his tongue, the _Resol'nare_ written on his bones, the Codex in his ears, marching to the tune of _Dha Werda Verda_. As a child, he clung to it, cleaved himself to it, because it was everything he was told to be, everything his Dad said he should be, and he wanted to be everything his father expected, because he loved him.

Some of the _Cuy'val Dar_ mocked Jango for Boba - but always behind his back and quietly, because he was still Jango Fett. Boba, ever getting where he shouldn't, had heard it and knew what they meant. How he came into being was unnatural, how he was being taught was unnatural, how he was being raised without a Clan was unnatural. How he was a clone amongst clones, and yet set apart; how the others resented him. How everything about him was artificial and wrong and a sick twisting of the legacy that Jango _should_ be raising.

After Geonosis, Boba understood a little of what they meant. A Mandalorian without a Clan was unnatural, and faltering and desperate, he tried to make his own, only to watch it crumble as the bounty hunters betrayed him.

Prison stripped away any pretensions he had that he could make it on reputation alone. Jango had been the best, and Boba was only reflected glory - _copied_ glory - and it meant nothing without Jango's skill and ruthless edge. Competing with killers and forced to survive, Jaster's legacy meant nothing.

So he discarded it. He took his father's lessons and picked them clean of _Mando'a_ , stripped them to the bones and made a Syndicate of them. He grew the ruthlessness he needed, sharpened himself to nothing but edge, stole and tortured and bribed and blackmailed and killed and killed and killed.

The first time that he brought a bounty to Vader, Boba took a stim shot before he walked down the ramp of _Slave I_ , so his hands wouldn't tremble on the edge of the carbonite slab. He locked his knees and clenched his jaw as he looked up at the black nightmare that was the Emperor's enforcer, stared him down visor-to-visor, and waited. All it gained him was a slight headtilt as those sepulchral tones declared that he would be contracted again. The carbonite slid out from under his gloved hand without any physical input, and he knew that Vader was _darjetii_ \- Sith.

The clones had been built to kill the Jedi, and as Vader contracted him more, Boba found himself fulfilling that purpose - Jango's legacy, not Jaster's. He hunted Jedi and brought them to Vader, most dead. The clones were being phased out of the Imperial Army, replaced by incompetent natborns, and Boba wondered sourly if it was time for him to be phased out as well. But there was always another job, always another payday, and Vader's contracts meant that he was exempt from the harsh Imperial sanctions on Mandalorians.

Jabba's contract on Solo was easy and dovetailed nicely with Vader's demands for Skywalker - until it turned out that Skywalker was the Jedi he was rumoured to be, and the Alderaanian princess was more _mandokarla_ than expected.

Tatooine left a lot to be desired, regardless of the Sarlacc, but it had given him more time than he'd liked to think. The Tuskens weren't exactly hospitable, but they tolerated him and taught him enough of their language to get by. Water and rumour became his life - gathering, using, protecting, controlling. Ironic for someone born on a planet where there was nothing but water and words.

Then Fennec Shand's blood watered the sand, bringing too many memories. A body in _beskar'gam_ surrounded by bodies in plastoid, the fuzzing hum of Geonosian wings overlaid with the higher note of LAATs. Cybernetics weren't something he had much expertise in, but he knew enough. She followed him, bound by debt, to Tython, and his armour - his legacy.

The HUD flickering to life, the gentle pressure of the padding, the weight of the jetpack on his back were home and expectation and failure and abandonment. He pushed through the threatening tears to use his skill to _protect_ , to help one of his people, for the first time that he could remember.

The child was saved, and in the same breath, gone - given up for his own future. For protection and training that Djarin could never give. Instead, Djarin held the Darksaber. The sacrifice was in every line of his body, how he would give up the saber in an instant for his son to be back in his arms. How he knew the necessity and hated it, but bore the pain for love of his son.

Boba's gut twisted in jealousy and sympathy, that something so simple and so complex had never been his and would probably never be his. The _Dha'kad_ , the symbol of the _Mand'alor_ that neither Jaster nor Jango had held, was within his grasp, but he felt no pull towards it. Instead, he only felt the pull towards Djarin, towards the shining love for his son, and the pointless hope that perhaps some of that love and kinship and _belonging_ could reflect on him and give him something to hold, something that was not legacy. Something that was _real_.

It was time to leave the legacy behind.


	3. Week Three: Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week Three: Culture  
> "I plan to bring these clones up in the traditions of Mandalore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one fought me, hence it's late. I'm not satisfied, but it's something.

Jango was staring up at the tiers upon tiers of incubation pods when one of the Kaminoans glided over and presented him with a commlink. "The first of your… associates… has arrived. Please speak with them," and glided away again without so much as a bow. Their hands were flickering at their sides, so they were worried or disturbed.

With a raised eyebrow, Jango thumbed on the comm and said, "Fett."

"Fett? Would you kindly ask your… employers... to allow me to exit my ship," came the aristocratic voice of Walon Vau, tinged with its usual disdain.

"I'll come to you," Jango replied, and cut off the inevitable questions with, "And I'll explain."

Vau cut the comm with a humph of disgust, and Jango couldn't help a snicker as he stowed the comm in a beltpouch and headed for the visitors' landing pads.

As he slipped on his helmet at the door, a second ship was landing beside Vau's, old and battered to the elegant lines of the aristocrat's, and he recognised the _allik_ \- Skirata. Those two were sure to get on like oil and water, Jango smiled to himself, perhaps a little nastily, as he walked across to where Vau was grumpily stationed at the bottom of his ramp, two Kaminoans keeping him there.

"I'll explain once we're inside," Jango said, "Follow me," and turned without waiting for a response. As Skirata's ramp came down, he repeated it, and soon enough they were inside, the Kaminoans following at a discreet distance.

Jango paused by the doors of the incubation rooms, and turned, popping off his helmet. The other two followed suit, polite but wary. "Before I show you anything, you understand that this contract is going to be long - perhaps as long as ten years?"

"And absolutely secret," replied Skirata, nodding. He tapped his sand-gold chestplate, adding, "I have nothing to keep me."

Vau turned his head, looking down his long nose at Skirata. "Likewise," he replied, short and sharp.

Jango nodded. "The easiest way for me to explain is to show you," and swung open the doors, leading the two men into the incubation rooms and over to the stack of pods that counted the first six prototypes.

"Are they…?" Vau asked, stepping forward and ghosting one black-gloved hand over a pod. "I know what the Kaminoans are best at."

"Yes, they're clones," Jango replied. "Of me. Behaviourally modified and physiologically enhanced, to be the greatest Army this galaxy has ever seen."

He now had two pairs of piercing blue eyes boring into his own. "You would have children made?" Skirata gritted out.

"Yes," Jango replied, and before they could spit out whatever they were thinking, he carried on, "They were commissioned by a supposed Jedi by the name of Tyranus, everything paid for."

Skirata's eyes narrowed. "That is a _narudar_ name."

Jango nodded - because Kal Skirata knew his history, and knew that the _werda'narudare_ , the Dark Allies, the Sith - were not to be trusted, in conquest or anything else. Vau blinked at Skirata for a second - clearly not expecting the knowledge, and then his expression hardened as he looked over to Jango, distrustful.

"I believe so," Jango replied. "But I plan to bring these clones up in the traditions of Mandalore."

For a long second, they stared at him, and then Vau's eyes narrowed. "Because a person is most loyal to their birth culture."

"And our culture is one of warriors," added Skirata. "So when they have served their purpose…"

Jango smiled, teeth bared. "When they have served their purpose in whatever war they are being made for, they will have a culture of warriors."

Vau's smile was sharp-edged and nasty. "And they will look to _Manda'yaim_."

"You intend for Mandalore to rise again?" asked Skirata, and there was calculation in his eyes.

"I intend for the _Mando'ade_ to rise again," Jango replied. "To take back our home and rebuild our culture."


	4. Week Four: Vode An

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week Four: Vode An  
> " _Kot, vod,_ " came Din's voice, calm and steady across the helmetcomm, and his hand rested on Boba's pauldron for a moment, gifting the strength to him, before he walked down the ramp, Fennec behind him. Boba took another deep breath and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one, again unfortunately late, but at least I did it. In my defence, it's the 367th of March and time has lost all meaning.
> 
>  _Mando'a_ should all be easy but I can translate if required.

Boba Fett could be accused of being many things; cold and uncaring, deadly, mercenary, paranoid. He could not be accused of breaking his word.

As the ramp extended and the airlock hissed open, he took a deep breath and clenched his fists, because this was the closest he'd ever been to just saying no and leaving.

" _Kot, vod_ ," came Din's voice, calm and steady across the helmetcomm, and his hand rested on Boba's pauldron for a moment, gifting the strength to him, before he walked down the ramp, Fennec behind him. Boba took another deep breath and followed.

The cavernous hangar was packed with ships, but they were a motley assortment. Most were nondescript, transports and freighters, though there were several fast couriers and one beautiful Mandalorian _Kom'rk_ fighter. Some sported the marks of Traders, others the Rebel starbird, still others various Mandalorian sigils. The groups of people were equally disparate in dress, but in stature and looks, almost all of the men had the same look: tan skin, brown eyes, and stocky, muscular bodies.

From a group by a VCX-100 freighter, a Togruta woman in dark robe was coming forward, smiling. Something about her was familiar, and as Din went to greet her, it clicked: she was a Jedi. Ahsoka Tano. During the Empire's reign, her bounty had been millions. Boba flung out an arm to stop his brother, and he could feel Din's stare on him.

"Jedi," he said, quiet, allowing his discomfort out in a growl. Tano's expression fell from a smile into blankness, and behind his faceplate Boba found his teeth bared. In his peripheral, Fennec tensed.

"She helped me find Tython, and the teacher for Grogu," said Din quietly, gently setting his hand on Boba's arm and lowering it. "She's a friend." For a long second, Boba glared at him, willing Din to understand how dangerous this woman was, but Din just gave a miniscule shake of the head, and Boba let it out in a sigh, grimacing. He trusted Din, and he had sworn to him as _Mand'alor_ ; it was all he could do.

Boba barely heard Tano asking after the little one, Din's brief description of the events of Tython, Morak, and the defeat of Moff Gideon. Behind Tano was a young woman in bright-painted armour, the Wren wings on the temples of her helmet, and at her shoulders were two men, probably in their early sixties but still strong. Both wore old, white armour, and the helmets under their arms were adorned distinctively: one with blue Jaig Eyes and one with a stylised grey Loth-wolf.

He knew those markings, had hated them and longed for them in equal amount, along with golden sunbursts and green arrows. He'd tracked the legions and the elusive Alphas - the closest he had to batchmates - though the HoloNet, and kept campaign records during the years of the War.

He'd quietly spirited away dying men during the years of the Empire, sent anonymous funds to Spar and his commandoes, cleared slave chips out of shaved heads. It was nothing but luck - good or bad, he hadn't decided - that he had been plucked from the conveyor to be raised at the pace of a natborn, rather than suffer gene therapy and a shortened lifespan. He was _Mando'ad_ , and blood and honour compelled him, for all that it hurt. All of the money Vader paid was irrelevant to honour.

They moved towards him, two pairs of brown eyes sharp despite the wrinkles around them, and Boba wondered if they still resented him as they had when they were children in Tipoca City's barren halls. When he was a child; they never were, they were always cadets.

Then another voice was breaking into his thoughts, and he turned to see three men in _beskar'gam_ \- one each red, blue, and purple, the Skirata aliik on their shoulders. "So, Fett. Heard that you were dead - something about a Sarlacc," came the taunting tone, and Boba gritted his teeth for a moment, because Jaing Skirata hadn't got any less annoying in the nearly-thirty years since they'd last interacted.

"It didn't take," Boba replied, trying for mild and mostly succeeding. He pulled off his helmet, revealing his scars, and there were at least three sharp intakes of breath at the size and severity of them. Fennec snorted, and Boba flicked a raised-eyebrow look over at her, which got a flash of teeth.

"So why are you here, then?" Ordo asked, tone level; the responsible one, as always. Boba very nearly snickered, but managed to contain it to a smirk. The Skiratas hadn't changed much, at least.

"The _Mand'alor_ wants to recognise us all as _Mando'ade_ ," Boba replied, tilting his head to where Din was talking quietly to Tano, a dark-haired young man, and the young Wren, who had pulled her helmet off to reveal bright-dyed hair and sharp brown eyes.

"The _Mand'alor_?" came a growled question - and Boba turned to Wolffe. His voice had got gruffer over the years, Boba observed absently.

"He won the Darksaber by combat; he is the _Mand'alor_ ," Boba replied.

The other clone frowned deeper, and Rex asked, "From who? Last we heard, Kryze had it, from Sabine," and he gestured to the young woman. Boba couldn't prevent the look of surprise on his face - he'd heard about the death of Governor Saxon and Bo-Katan Kryze lifting the Darksaber, but hadn't known how it got to her.

"Moff Gideon, he was -" Boba began, but the identical snarls ripping out of Wolffe and Jaing's throats brings him to a halt. "I see I don't have to explain," he added with a huff, and got two dark-eyed glares and several T-visors that implied the same.

"Is he dead?" Mereel asked, his usual joking tone absent.

Boba shook his head. "Not yet; the New Republic have him and look like they're going to throw the book at him."

"He should get Mandalorian justice," snarled Jaing, to a growling agreement from Wolffe.

"After this, you should be able to dispense that yourself," said Fennec, wry and vaguely mocking.

"Is that -?" began Ordo, and then paused for a moment before he continued, "What did you mean about 'recognising us all'?"

"Well, you don't really have to worry about that, Skirata," Boba replied, gesturing to the _aliik_ on Ordo's pauldron. "You're part of a recognised Clan. The rest of us… well. Not so much."

There was an awkward pause, and then Rex said, "But you were the Prime's _son_ ," his tone quiet and face completely blank, but Boba could hear the resentment that still simmered there. Well, that answered that question.

But he owed these men an explanation, because these men were the last of his blood.

"Most of Clan Mereel were _Haat Mando'ade_. They were almost all killed at Galidraan, and the few survivors became New Mandalorians - and were wiped out by the Empire. Clan Fett was small, only on Concord Dawn, and were wiped out by the Empire too. I'm the last that I can find of either, and, well… you can't be a Clan with one person. I'm as Clanless as you are." There were several intakes of breath, and Boba finished, "Din has offered me a place in Clan Mudhorn, and likely he'll offer it to you too."

Wolffe snorted and shook his head. "So now we're all just clones, regardless."

"Yeah," said Boba, and shook his head, melancholy rising as he looked over at the older clones, the white hair and wrinkles that his father had never had. They were probably still aging at the designed double-speed; even if they did become a Clan, he'd still end up the only one eventually. "And you're still dealing with the karking Kaminoan poodoo."

"Not any more, thank the _Ka'ra_ ," said Ordo, and pulled off his helmet - and Boba stared, because he looked maybe fifty, hair still dark but for a slight dusting of grey at the temples. "We had scientists develop it and we ended up with a cure to the aging just after the end of the War; we managed to get it to the Rebellion a few years later."

"Thanks for that," grinned Rex, "The medics were always mysterious about where it came from," and he stepped forward, offering his hand to Mereel.

The other clone took it in a warrior's clasp, gauntlet to gauntlet, and pulled Rex into a quick hug. "You're welcome, _vod_ ," he replied, with an identical grin.

The easy camraderie pricked at Boba, but this was the price for being his father's son. Purposely, he turned his attention to the centre of the hangar. Din was talking with another group of full-armoured Mandalorians, the Jedi and her younger crewmates beside him, and everyone was starting to gather around them. His shifted attention gained the notice of the other clones, and with a single head tilt and a couple of nods, they moved as a unit, seamlessly moving to settle in a semicircle around the group.

Boba sighed, because the brief interaction had been surprisingly pleasant. No violence or yelling, and he'd both gained and passed on valuable information. But once again, he was different, separate, alone.

"Boba, c'mon," Mereel was waving to him, and abruptly Boba had to focus to stop his mouth dropping open. They were _including him_?! He jogged over, Fennec sauntering in his wake, and his confusion must have shown in his body language.

"You just said you were the same as we are," said Wolffe, grumpily, and his eyes flicked away.

" _Vode An_ ," added Rex, and there was a grin hiding in the corner of his mouth, beneath the beard.

Jaing got the first few words of the chant out, " _Kandosii sa kar_ aaaargh -" before he was cut off by a glove to the mouth.

"No singing," came in unison from Ordo, Mereel, and several others wearing the Skirata _aliik_. Wolffe was very pointedly ignoring both Boba and the Skiratas. Fennec plopped an arm on Wolffe's shoulder and unashamedly leaned on him. It got her a _humph_ , but nothing else.

" _Vode An_ ," Boba replied, grinning back at Rex.


End file.
